


Tea

by emungere



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-12-03
Updated: 2005-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-28 00:59:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2713118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emungere/pseuds/emungere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not that I doubt he loved her. I just think that was it for him. He's done now. And I was done before I even started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea

**Author's Note:**

> for louise, with thanks to sffan for the beta and the idea :)

Hakkai's cleaning. It was no trouble moving him in. Sanzo and Goku went back to the temple, and me and Hakkai came here, and it was done. All he has are the clothes on his back, and even that's more than he had the first time he came to live with me.

The whole place smells like bleach now instead of cigarette smoke and dirty socks. He's only been here for two hours. I can actually see my reflection in the kitchen floor. 

"Hakkai..."

He looks around, mild inquiry on his face, none of that darkness that used to live in his eyes twenty-four/seven.

"You don't have to do this."

"Oh, I think I do." He goes back to mopping with a rhythm that reminds me of sex. Steady, back and forth rocking, putting his hips into it. "You could develop allergies, you know. Living like this."

It was only one night. I didn't expect more back then. I knew he was leaving, that he wouldn't come back. But he did come back, and now I don't know what the fuck to do.

I can't watch him mop the goddamn floor anymore.

"Hey, you think you could make us some tea?" I ask, and he looks at me as if those were the exact words he wanted to hear. Like I said _Hey, your sister's fine, it was all a mistake._ Or maybe _Hey, my grandma died and left me a library full of really old, boring books, you want them?_

"Of course, Gojyo." He smiles, warm and almost-real, just a shade off, like he can't quite remember how to do it right, but he's trying.

_Hey, I love you._

Except I don't know what that means, and I doubt he wants to hear me say it. I've thought about it since he left. They say love makes you do stupid shit. Stupid like following a near-stranger with a gun and a death wish up a goddamn mountain in the middle of the night?

Probably not. Normal people fall in love. Not people like us.

I get up from the bed and sit on the kitchen counter. He gives me a disapproving look as I swing my heels against the cabinets.

"What?"

"That's not good for the wood," he says.

I stop, and he looks almost disappointed.

It's not that I doubt he loved her. I just think that was it for him. He's done now. And I was done before I even started.

The teapot's still on the shelf where he put it, and when he picks it up there's a clear space left in the dust. It hasn't been moved an inch since he left. The top's dusty too, and he polishes it with a corner of his shirt.

I hop down and look for a dishtowel. Those are the only clothes he has. Can't find one anywhere, so I pull the bandana off my hair and hand it to him. He gives me that look, like when I'd wear my boots in the house or put my cigarettes out in my beer cans. His that's-not- _sanitary_ look.

"What? My hair is dirtier than your shirt? C'mon, I just washed it this morning."

He raises a hand, and I think he's going to take it. Instead, he reaches up and touches my hair. I bend my head a little at the first touch to make it easier for him. His fingers weave through my hair, palm heavy and warm against me scalp, blunt nails barely felt.

"When did you cut it?" he asks quietly.

"It wasn't because of you."

"That's not what I asked."

His hand stills, and I want...I don't know what. I don't want him to stop touching me.

"Not that long ago," I tell him.

He sets the teapot down in its clear space surrounded by dust and touches my face, traces my scars like he did that night when he thought I was asleep.

He kisses them lightly. His lips are dry against my cheek, and I can't feel them at all where the scars are.

I turn my head, and his mouth is on mine, hungry and hot, and his hand clenches in my hair. His tongue is in my mouth, sliding against mine for a few bare seconds before he jerks away, panting.

We stare at each other. His lips are wet, his cheeks just a little flushed. He looks surprised.

"Don't stop." I sound more desperate than I'd like.

"Why? Why do you...?"

My brain short-circuits on _why_. I never know the answer to that question. But I have to say something.

"Because if we don't sleep together, I'll have to sleep on the floor," I blurt out. I scrunch my eyes shut. It might very well be the stupidest thing I've ever said.

But Hakkai's laughing quietly, kissing me again, thumbs smoothing over my closed eyelids.

"That wouldn't do," he says. "Not at all," and his fingers are working at the fastening of my pants.

I take a breath and feel relief sigh through me. He pulls me to him, my back to his chest, his hand down my pants. I lean back, head on his shoulder, feeling his teeth on my throat, and shiver.

He's gentler than he was that night. The scrape of his teeth is so light it probably won't even lean a mark. His hand on my cock is firm, steady. He refuses to hurry, and I'm left clutching at his hips, grinding back against his hard-on, biting my lip so I won't beg him to fuck me.

"Soon," he murmurs. "Soon."

His voice is soothing, but his touch makes me squirm. I'm right on the edge, and he's holding me there, slowing his strokes while I whimper and jerk my hips and try not to think how embarrassed I should be by this. Completely undone by him. In five minutes. In my own goddamn kitchen with all our clothes still on.

His free hand snakes under my shirt and pinches my nipple, twists it a little, just right. He bites lightly at my neck, just enough pressure so I can feel my pulse between his teeth. His hand tightens on my cock, thumb running firmly around the head. My knees buckle as I come.

He strokes me gently while I come down from it, holds me up until I get my feet back under me. He kisses my other cheek, free of scars and brushes a hand through my hair again. He's smiling. It looks less forced this time.

I push back against his hard-on again. Can feel the heat through our clothes.

"Do you wanna--you know?"

He shakes his head. "Not tonight."

"Then what?"

"Nothing tonight."

I turn and rest my hands on his hips. "I want to suck you off."

I've never offered before. Never wanted to. Only done it twice before, and it tastes bad and makes my jaw hurt. Don't know why I want to now. Because it's him, I guess.

For a second I think he'll say no, but then he nods very slightly. I kneel carefully. The kitchen floor's hard, seams of the tiles digging into my knees. His hands move through my hair as I pull his pants down. Feels good.

I hold onto his hips and lick across the head, just getting used to the taste. It's been a long time. Seems easier now than it did before. Easier to open my mouth and take him in, less awkward to keep my teeth out of the way. I can't take him all the way, so I wrap a hand around what won't fit in my mouth.

Easy slide, up and down. He's starting to breathe faster, hands turning to fists in my hair, holding me tight enough that it's hard to move, so I pull him forward, fingers digging into his hip. His breath hitches, and he's so still for a second. Then he starts to move, cock sliding tight between my tongue and the roof of my mouth.

He's going deeper than I would've taken him, but I don't feel choked or anything. Don't feel bad at all, really. It's easy to just close my eyes and let him do it, let him fuck my mouth. All I hear is the hum of the fridge and his breathing, a little harsh now. Ragged. Squeeze of his hands in my hair, and that's all the warning I get.

He comes, and I try to swallow. Manage most of it, but I have to wipe my chin when he pulls back. Still doesn't taste good, but that's okay.

He leans back against the counter and looks at me, dick still hanging out of his pants, wet from my mouth.

"Would you still like some tea?" he asks.

I cover my mouth, but it's no good. I bend over, laughing into my knees, forehead almost touching the floor. Then I hear the clink of china, the sound of water running. He's actually making tea.

I sit up, watching him, still trying not to laugh. His clothes are straight again, his movements clean and efficient. He looks around and smiles at me. His smile is almost easy this time.

I'd rather have a beer. But what the hell.

"Yeah. Tea would be great."


End file.
